Like the storied boy combing the strand of a vast ocean,
With the shoreward Habagat slamming my blushed cheeks,
I wondered about the precise undulation of tidal waters.
In my palm shifty sands fall off between my fingers,
Calculating how many handfuls of these make creation,
Determinedly guessing, trying to grasp reasons for it all.

It is enough that I was a witness to God's grandeur
All the beauty of this world streamed through my eyes
It sufficed that I sensed His majesty, not thought it,
Felt His love rather than understood it.
He made an awesome and glorious world in my time,
But, then the world was not that beautiful at all times
I do not need to know why, really I don't. Do you?